


Dreams of Birds and Bees

by 221bean



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-06 11:13:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15193553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221bean/pseuds/221bean
Summary: Molly Hooper wants a baby- and she isn't getting any younger. When Sherlock Holmes offers to father her baby her strong feelings towards him begin to get in the way of their "no strings attached" deal. But she doesn't know he is battling with some strong feelings of his own.





	1. Dreams of Birds and Bees

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I am excited to share this new fic. I have been working on it for a long time, and though it's not completed, I have decided to start publishing bits of it. Hope you enjoy and if you do please let me know!

Molly flew out of the lab at Bart's, showing no interest in stopping for the befuddled young intern she had just struck with the door. She hadn't even changed from her formaldehyde scented clothes before she left. She sat in the cab, tapping her fingers on the armrest with a frantic energy until she reached Baker St.

She looked over Sherlock's texts as she waited for him to open the door- he had sent about ten more just on her five-minute drive to Baker Street.

Molly, I need your help. It's urgent. Baker St. -SH

Please, Molly. I'm a bit out of my depth here. –SH

The first few she had ignored, assuming he just wanted her help with some experiment or was angling for a spare body part, but when the name of her goddaughter flashed across the screen she could ignore him no longer.

It's about Rosie. I don't care if it's inconvenient, come anyway. -SH

Sherlock pulled the door open to a flushed and panting pathologist. He looked exhausted; his usually perfect curls were a ratty mess, a furry halo around his head. He was holding the baby in his arms- entirely incorrectly, as she babbled loudly. Spit-up decorated his finely tailored suit.

"Thank god!" He exclaimed as he pulled her inside.

"So, what's so urgent that I needed to leave in the middle of a workday, Sherlock?" He held out the baby to her like an offering he was desperate to rid himself of. He looked truly concerned- she had never seen him so frazzled.

"I don't know what I'm doing, Molly! She just kind of expelled a lot of various fluids and…" He motioned to his soiled clothing. "Anyways John had some emergency with the nanny, so he dropped Rosie off with me."

Molly struggled to suppress a giggle. "Oh my god Sherlock. You are ridiculous." She rolled her eyes and tried her best to sound stern as she grabbed the child from him, heading for the kitchen to clean her up. She ran some water in the sink and removed the soiled nappy, carefully cleaning Rosie up. When the sink was full, she scooped up her goddaughter and placed her in the warm water.

Sherlock sunk into a kitchen chair directly next to her, visibly relaxing. He watched as Molly ran her hand over the child's head, attempting to get some spit-up out of her tufts of hair. She tickled Rosie's stomach and they both erupted in giggles. Molly picked up some bubbles and blew them towards her granddaughter, who squealed with delight. The smile on Molly's face was radiant as she played with the squirming child, Sherlock thought. He stood and leaned over her shoulder, making funny faces for the baby.

She eventually caught him, the idea of Mr. Posh doing something so ridiculous made Molly giggle and she turned, scooping up some more bubbles and playfully blowing them in his face- which she instantly regretted. At first, he looked shocked, frozen in place. Molly gulped, worried she had crossed a line, but quickly his face morphed into a brilliant smile. He ruffled the suds from his curls and gave Molly a wicked grin. Both she and Rosie squeaked as Sherlock splashed her and let out a deep, throaty chuckle.

After both Rosie and Sherlock were cleaned up and the baby was sleeping in Sherlock's room, he and Molly lay on the floor in the sitting room; exhausted.

"Thank you, Molly," Sherlock said, breaking the silence. She hummed in response. "You're really good with her, you know?"

Molly smiled. "You're not so bad at it, Sherlock."

"Oh please. I can barely change a nappy." They both laughed.

"Okay fine." she laughed.

Molly considered her next few words carefully, attempting to pull enough courage to ask him what she wanted to know. "Sherlock? Did you ever, at any point in your life, actually consider having kids?"

Sherlock's face went blank and for a second she thought maybe he would just retreat into his mind palace and leave her to chew on her lips and twiddle her thumbs until Rosie woke. I knew I shouldn't have asked that! Stupid. His response came though, and it fully surprised her.

"Of course I have. But I'd be terrible at it! I mean you saw me today. And children come with… emotional attachments that I couldn't possibly-"

"What do you mean 'of course'? What happened to all that 'sentiment is a chemical defect' crap?"

"After my sister, after Sherrinford, I could no longer deny that I… feel things. I can't pretend that I don't… But pushing things down doesn't work in the long run." Attempting to remove attention from himself, Sherlock hurriedly said "It seems that you are the one that wants a baby, Molly," he said, looking up at the ceiling, away from her eyes.

"Hmm." Molly had given this consideration before. She'd dreamed of having children when she was a girl, but in her dreams, she'd always had a husband by her side. But now, at thirty-five, not a relationship in sight and a job that seemed to repel suitors, her childhood dream seemed far off. The only man she'd ever wanted to fill that role was laying on the floor next to her and he'd just told her he didn't want emotional attachment. She left his flat that evening feeling heavy hearted and in need of a girl's night- she had come to a realization.

Meena and Molly were snuggled on Molly's settee with two very generous glasses of wine. Molly had called her friend as soon as she left Baker Street, in desperate need of some advice and even though it was nearly nine, her friend obliged. She sat with her legs crossed under her, chewing on her lips, trying to force the words from them.

"Molly, Jesus what wrong?" Meena looked concerned and set down her glass. Molly took a deep gulp of her drink before doing the same.

"I- I think I want to have a baby." She watched Meena's eyes widen. "I mean I'm not getting any younger, and we both know I'll never feel for anyone like I do for… him, but that's never going to happen so…" She trailed off.

"Molls, you still have time. Really!"

Molly never liked thinking of her slowly aging body as a "ticking time bomb". She thought the term was sexist and stress-inducing, but as she grew into her late thirties, she found herself longing for a family.

"How do you think you're going to go about it?" Meena questioned.

"Artificial insemination?" This caused an abundant eye-roll from her friend. Molly understood her doubt- she had been pining for the same man for years, one she could never have. She wasn't just picky, she was heart-set and stubborn-footed for one man. "I mean I'm not finding a man." She laughed with a hint of bitterness, but Meena was not amused by her self-deprecation, she just looked at her friend sadly. "I don't know," Molly said defensively. "I'm still thinking it over."

"Maybe just a midlife crisis? Sleep on it and if you decide to go ahead, I'll take you to the clinic." She sighed. "Just… please think it over. I'm not so sure this is what will make you happy."

"What would?"

"I am fairly capable in my manipulation skills. Maybe even the sexy detective can fall susceptible to my talents." Both women laughed.

After Meena left that night, Molly lay awake thinking about her options, trying to convince herself that she was simply stressing the passage of time, but rightfully, she thought. But in her heart, she knew what she wanted, which quickly turned into dreams of one curly-haired detective.

Sherlock chased a little dark-haired toddler around his flat, her squeals filing the room. He reached her, swinging the child in his arms, tickling honey-sweet giggles from her chubby cheeks. His smile reached his eyes, forming those perfect crinkles, a rarity that filled Molly with warmth.

She kissed the head of the little warm bundle she held. Sherlock had his arms wrapped around them, staring down at their perfect creation, radiating pure joy. She was exhausted, but so incredibly happy.

"I love you." He said to her, his deep baritone sending shivers down her spine.

"I love you too, Sherlock." She turned to him and their lips met in a slow, tender kiss.

Molly woke with teary eyes. When she dreamed of Sherlock, it was usually much more pleasurable, but her subconscious seemed to refuse to let her live in denial. She wanted a child with someone that would make her happy, she wanted him, though she also knew that he would never be the man she would need him to be. Sure, he could learn how to change a nappy or make dinner, but he would never be affectionate. He would never hold her when she was upset, and if he did, it would be out of obligation rather than genuine concern or love.

Love. That's what she really wanted in the depths of her heart, but she was smart enough to know that love- especially his, would never be hers.


	2. The Binder of Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly decides to go to a fertility clinic but finds herself dissatisfied with her options for sperm donors and struggles coping with the idea of raising a child on her own. She finds Sherlock makes a surprising offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to post this! A friend of mine had a bit of a family emergency and I was helping out. Hope you enjoy, and if you do please let me know.

Stuttering Molly Hooper, clumsy, star-struck, and pining was a long-evolved creature, and she and Sherlock had fallen into a comfortable friendship. So, after dreaming of babies with a man she had thoroughly tried to repress her feelings for, she found herself sitting uncomfortably in the waiting room of a fertility clinic. Molly attempted to focus on the clipboard of forms that she was balancing on her knee, but her racing heart and sweating palms distracted her. You’re not making any decisions yet. She told herself. No need to be anxious! Just relax.

Her eyes wandered around the room, landing on a couple about 10 years younger than she. The woman had rested one hand on her prominent baby bump, the other was laced with her husband’s. She looked up to him and gave him a toothy smile and he smiled back, laughing at something she had said. Molly felt a tang of bitter jealousy in the pit of her stomach. 

“Ms. Hooper?” A young blonde in butterfly-printed scrubs popped her head around a door. Molly got up and followed her. The woman took her to a traditional doctor’s office, complete with a wheeling stool, various medical supplies, and a paper-covered cot. After waiting about fifteen minutes she was met by another woman, much older, hair hanging in grey ropes. She wore a lab coat- a familiar and comforting sight for Molly. 

“So, what brings you here today?” The doctor asked, sitting on the stool and pulling up Molly’s file on her computer. She clicked quickly at a few keys on an old keyboard, read something from a manila folder, then looked up at Molly.

Molly hesitated, fiddling with the thin, waxy paper underneath her. “I want to have a baby.” She bit her lip and took a deep breath. 

“So you and your partner want to do basic fertility tests? Maybe fertility treatments? They are perfectly common at your age.” She was clearly trying to sound reassuring.  
Molly was now biting her lip so hard that she was afraid she would draw blood. “No, I want to try artificial insemination with a donor.” She felt almost ashamed to admit she was doing this alone. 

The doctor quickly noticed her mistake, scrambling to correct herself. “Oh! Well we can give you a list of our donors and you can pick one, then you’ll come back and we can go through the insemination process.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Due to your age,” the doctor said delicately. “I would consider doing a few cycles of fertility treatments. The insemination process is a bit of a… financial strain, and the success rate per cycle is only about ten to twenty percent. In a healthy woman, it tends to be about six months or so before pregnancy occurs.”  
Molly stared at the woman in front of her. She was a doctor herself, but she hadn’t fully considered all the details of this process. Her mind was swimming when the doctor returned with a binder. Pages of men she had never- and would never meet. 

 

*********  
“No! He didn't even go to university!” Molly and Meena were sitting in the cafe at Bart’s, flipping through “The Binder of Boys” as Meena called it.

“Yeah, but look at that jawline! I mean I would love to have his babies.” The pair giggled for a bit. “You’re so picky though! Do you think it really matters that much? I mean as long as he’s healthy…” Meena trailed off when a certain consulting detective sauntered up to their table.

“Molly! I require at least two human arms immediately.” Sherlock interjected. Both women rolled their eyes at him. 

“Hello to you too, Sherlock. I’m a little busy right now.” Molly watched Sherlock’s eyes fall to the binder and she quickly slammed it shut. Sadly, it was not fast enough for his flitting eyes. 

“Sperm donors Molly? Interesting…” Molly felt her cheeks flush and her stomach begin to rise to her throat.

“I… uh…”

“Molly, those men aren’t the only ones that are willing and capable of providing a superior Y chromosome.” With that, he slid away from the women and right out the doors, leaving Molly very confused.

Though Meena was convinced that Sherlock was just trying to mess with her head (not a surprise by any means), Molly continued to think about what he had said to her in the café. Though she really should have been completing the autopsy report for Mrs. Norbert, a middle-aged woman who had come in for a serious case of the hiccups, and mysteriously died after spending about twenty-five minutes in the ER, Molly instead read and re-read the profile of the only donor that even remotely interested her.   
He was a young man, only twenty-three, six foot two, with black coffee-colored curls. He was completing a doctorate in physics and had graduated from Yale. He’s an American then! Molly thought, but she wasn't going to lie to herself- he did look a little like her favorite detective. She sighed and shut the binder just as Mike Stamford knocked on her open door.

She glanced up at the man, worried that he had caught her slacking off work, or even more embarrassingly caught a glance of her “Binder of Boys”. He looked at her questioningly though and asked, 

“What’s that Molls?” He didn’t sound angry at her, but rather curious instead. 

“Nothing,” Molly answered quickly as she threw it in her desk drawer and picked up her pen to start her report. Mike didn't seem to get the hint though and instead sat down in one of the chairs on the other side of her desk, looking concerned. 

Molly bit her lip, waiting for the impending questions. “Mike, I’m really sorry. I’ll get back to work.”

“What was that Molly?” Mike asked again. Molly sighed and begrudgingly placed her shame in front of him. He looked up at her expectantly and she nodded for him to open it. Molly closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, not wanting to see the expression on his face when he understood the shortcomings in her love life. She waited as he flipped through the pages, but when she opened her eyes, she was surprised to see a toothy grin. 

“Congratulations, Molls!” He leaned over the desk to embrace her. She stiffened in his arms, but his kindness softened her and she let herself give in, hot tears beginning to roll down her face. Mike pulled away, scanning her with concern. “What’s wrong?” He seemed genuinely confused. 

“I just never really thought…” She sniffled. “thought that I would be doing this alone.” She buried her head in her hands. 

Mike reached out and touched her shoulder. “You are not alone Molly.” She was now fully crying, heaving out sobs and gasping for air. Mike reached over her and grabbed her a tissue to wipe her eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Mike. This is so unprofessional,” She blubbered. It now fully dawned on her that she was talking in depth about her personal life to her boss. 

“It’s quite alright, really I-” He was cut off by the slamming of the lab door. Mike got up to shut the door to her office before the stranger could intrude, but a dexterous hand caught the door just in time. 

Sherlock pushed himself passed Mike, who quickly escaped the office, to stand in front of Molly. “You’re upset.” He said it as a statement rather than a question. Her head was once again buried in her hands, an attempt to embarrass herself a little less, and he used two long fingers to gently tilt her head towards him. He immediately took in her puffy eyes and wet cheeks. “And you’ve been crying.” He kneeled beside her.

She took a deep breath, attempting to comfort herself before she met his gaze. “It’s nothing, really.” She tried to sound convincing, but her voice quivered and she knew that her eyes betrayed her. She watched as his eyes scanned her office until they landed on the open binder. 

“What happened?” He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, a rare form for him to take. He stared at her patiently with those sea-glass-eyes and she melted. Molly caved into his chest, feeling the warmth of him surrounding her. He stayed frigid for a moment, still under her touch and Molly began to feel as though she had made a mistake, but right as she was about to pull away in embarrassment, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him. She continued to cry silently against his chest, as he rubbed slow circles on her upper back until her breathing evened out. She felt so safe in his arms, pushed up against the firm muscle of his body, the subtle scent of his cologne and tobacco. When she had calmed, Sherlock pushed her away slowly and pulled a chair around to sit in front of her. “What happened?” he asked again. 

Molly sighed. “I… I just don't think I can pick a complete stranger to be the father of my baby. Or raise a child all by myself.” She mumbled.

Sherlock knew what he wanted to offer her, but he wasn't oblivious to Molly’s attraction to him. He understood what John would say- offering her his genes was a bit not good. “You’re leading her on, Sherlock.” And yet he could not really give her what she wanted- a family, a husband, domesticity, love. Love that he knew he couldn't provide. Though he wasn't able to give her everything she wanted, when he looked into those big, brown eyes, he couldn't resist.

“Simple Molly! I am a more than satisfactory male specimen, and you do know me. I, of course, would not be truly involved in the child’s life, but I am sure that I am much smarter and likely much more attractive than your other options there.” He waved dismissively in the direction of her binder. 

Molly cocked an eyebrow at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?” She choked out.

“Obviously, Molly, I’ll be your sperm donor!” With a flourishing twirl of his coat, he sprung up and went to the door. Just as he was about to leave he spun back on his heel and said, “Text me the details. You know where to find me.” And with that he left, leaving Molly’s mind racing. She plopped her head into her hands and fell back into her chair with a sigh.


	3. Behind (Almost) Closed Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has offered to father Molly's baby, but Molly isn't so sure she is comfortable with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up! I am trying to get more consistent with my posting. Hope you enjoy, and please let me know if you do!

Molly and Sherlock had made plans to meet on Friday at Baker Street around 6:30, but as his case was running long Sherlock asked Molly to meet him at her place. Molly was sitting on the settee in her sweats, reading a book with Toby curled up in her lap, but she couldn't make herself focus on taking in any of the words. She reached for her glass of wine in an attempt to calm her nerves. Taking a long drought, she moved Toby from her thighs and padded to her bedroom. She knew that talking to Sherlock- her long-term lusting crush would be awkward. Especially because she was about to turn him down in his offer to father her child, even though the very idea of a little curly-headed cherub in Sherlock's image made goosebumps paint her skin and a bittersweet smile bloom on her face. It had taken her a full week to come to a decision. She loved him, she admitted that freely to herself, but the pain from being so close to him, from having a piece of him inside her, she knew that she couldn't stand it. Molly decided that the conversation would be easier if she felt her best, maybe even make him think about what he was missing out on, appeal to the man in the machine, however unlikely that was.

Sherlock knocked on the door to Molly's flat, but when there was no answer he proceeded to let himself in. He looked around her sitting room, noting the half-empty glass of wine on her coffee table. Toby greeted Sherlock with a gentle rub against his leg, purring quietly and hoping for a scratch. The man secretly liked the feline, happily kneeling to scratch the animal behind its ears. When he stood Toby stalked off towards Molly's bedroom. Sherlock followed, knowing that the cat was going to find Molly as well.

Her bedroom door was ajar and at first, he could only make out her figure in the dark, but as he strained his eyes he was able to see much more. She was almost entirely naked, clad in nothing but a pair of pale blue knickers. He couldn't help but admire her, her hair falling in gentle waves over her shoulders, her little pert breasts, the soft curve of her hips, and her deliciously smooth legs. He felt himself reacting, blood flowing south in a reflex he hadn't experienced in a very long time. He tried to feel ashamed- such a human reaction! And spying on his friend?

Sherlock managed to pull his eyes away as she reached for her bra, then he paced towards her sitting room. He sat in his customary chair and crossed his legs in order to hide and will away his embarrassment.

Molly returned, not even slightly surprised that he had let himself in. She donned little purple silk night shorts and a white jumper. She looked so soft, her small frame drowning in the wool. Sherlock leaped up and cleared his throat.

"Molly!" He said a little too loudly.

"I thought I heard you come in." She looked down at him, making sure her eye roll was quite obvious.

"Based on my research, we should start as soon as possible, as your cycle indicates that you would be most fertile in about three days. Following traditional artificial insemination methods, we could essentially do this all ourselves, but if you would prefer to put this in the hands of doctors then that too would be satisfactory. Although if we do choose to do this ourselves-"

"How do you know about my cycle?" She cut him off.

"Obviously, it's just a matter of-" Molly cut him off again.

"Never mind." She sat down on the settee and motioned for him to do the same. She leaned against the arm and pulled her legs to her chest and he sat across from her, looking at her intently. "We can't do this, Sherlock. It doesn't make any sense for either of us." He opened his mouth to protest but she continued. "You don't want any responsibility to a child, or to me." Molly paused to take a deep breath. "I want a family! The husband, the house, the kids. Maybe at this point in my life, that's not something I can have, but seeing the man- the father of my child, a good man, Sherlock…" She inched her hand closer to his on the couch subconsciously, like a silent apology. "To see him every day and not getting to call him mine? To have my child grow up with the knowledge that his father knows him, but doesn't love him? That he doesn't care? I don't think I can do that Sherlock. Not with you, not to my baby." She finished, tucking her head into her knees and waiting nervously for his response, refusing to look into his eyes. Silence filled the room for a few painfully long moments until finally, he spoke.

"But I already have a responsibility to you." The genuine hurt and confusion in his voice made Molly look up at him. "And I can't deny that I… do actually have… feelings." He choked out the last word like it was bitter on his tongue.

"What happened to all that 'sentiment is a chemical defect' crap?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. "After everything, after Sherrinford, I can't simply deny that I too take part in sentiment… and that that sentiment extends to you."

"What are you saying, Sherlock?" Molly felt as though she was in a cloud of dust, her eyes were watering, her mouth was dry, and her throat was filled with sand.

"I don't think I could ever be a proper father, nor do I have the emotional or mental capacity to ever be a proper husband, in this you are correct, but I am capable of sentiment. I need you to understand that I care very deeply for you, and if you want a child, then I want to give you one. If you want me to stay out of his or her life, I will. If you want me to be a father, then I promise you that I will try my best to do so. I am here for you, Molly, and try my best to be whatever you need me to be." He reached out to lay his hand on hers between the two of them on the settee, half expecting for her to pull away from him, but instead, she flipped her hand to hold his. He drew little circles on her palm with his thumb, trying to will her to understand what he couldn't quite put into words.

Molly was looking at him in awed silence. She could feel the start of tears in her eyes, the familiar constriction in her throat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and squeezed his hand, so much bigger than her own.

"Okay."

Molly let Sherlock share her bed that night, not an unusual occurrence for the pair, though tonight felt different. It was an unsaid understanding the two shared- Sherlock had his side of the bed, Molly hers, but as they laid in the dark Sherlock pulled Molly flush to his chest and kissed her head.

"Goodnight, Molly Hooper." He murmured into her hair. Her soothing smell of gardenias and honey lulled him into a comfortable sleep.

Molly stayed quiet and still in his arms, listening as his breath evened out and eventually slowed into a reassuring hush, ghosting across her neck. His smell surrounded her- rain on hot pavement, fresh linens, sandalwood, and the slightest hint of sweet tobacco. She felt safe in his arms, but it was awkward all the same- he held her like she was his, like he loved her, but she knew that wasn't the case. As she began to drift off, she heard the softest whimper from behind her.

"Molly." He nuzzled her hair and pulled her closer, wrapping his arms tightly around her body. The littlest flutter of joy hummed in her stomach, maybe there was hope for them after all.


	4. Baby Got Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly starts fertility drugs and Sherlock sleeps over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is taking so long. Most of the story is written, it just needs to be edited. I've had some family drama lately that has prevented me from writing. Thank you to everyone who continues to read despite my slow updates.

Sherlock had been eager for Molly to start fertility drugs as soon as they had both taken the physical exam, which he had been exceedingly proud of. His almost perfect score surprised her, especially considering his past with drugs. Her test wasn’t quite as impressive. It wasn’t her fault, but genetic predisposition and her small stature meant that her fertility wasn’t ideal and she couldn’t help but feel like it was her own personal failure.   
The doctor had prescribed her injections to increase her fertility, meaning Sherlock had to insert a needle into her arse cheek twice a day. She was supposed to take her first one when she got home that day, but she was hesitant.   
“Are you sure I can’t just do it by myself? I’m a doctor! I know how to use a syringe.” She regretted saying that as she thought he probably had more experience with needles than she.  
“You work on dead people. And you certainly can’t reach your own arse.” He picked up the small bag with the medication and walked over to where she was sitting on the settee. He held the pre-filled syringe and motioned for her to stand.  
“I’m sure Meena wouldn’t mind helping me with this.” Molly stood, her hand resting on the button of her trousers.   
“Don’t be ridiculous. Take off your trousers Molly.” She could have sworn his voice dropped an octave or two as he said this, sending shivers down her spine.   
“Fine,” she sighed. Molly was glad for her long jumper, hoping it would cover her rear. She shed her trousers, leaving her in her favorite pair of purple knickers. Sherlock couldn’t help but notice that they mirrored the color of his shirt. He had long known it was her favorite and was well aware that it was a bit too tight, but he liked her reactions. The flush of her cheeks, her dilated pupils. Sherlock knew that others thought he was unaware of such mannerisms, but he noticed when she crossed her legs in frustration, the way she bit her lip when he took off his coat.  
She turned away from him and he slowly slid his hand up the back of her thigh, appreciating the softness of her, her warmth. Molly, on the other hand, was as uncomfortable as can be. Every muscle in her body was tensed, holding as still as possible, trying her best not to react to his touch.  
“Breathe, Molly.” She turned her head over her shoulder, trying to give him a weary smile. “On the count of three?” He asked. She nodded.   
She felt a pinch and then the coolness of the liquid as he pushed the plunger.  
“There,” he said with finality. Molly moved to pull up her trousers as he went to toss the syringe. “Was that really so bad?” Sherlock asked.   
“No.” She rolled her eyes and sheepishly pulled up her slacks.  
*********  
The next few weeks continued as such; Sherlock would arrive at her flat every morning at 7:30 sharp to administer the fertility medication, then he would do the same in the evenings in her office at Bart’s, or if he wasn't at the lab he would meet her at her flat, often with take-out. Sherlock wasn't quick to admit to himself that he enjoyed these times. He didn't pretend they weren’t under awkward circumstances, but he always tried to lessen her un-comfortability as she did for him. Sometimes they would curl up on the couch watching some nonsense television show she liked. She seemed to like a lot of vampires, ghosts, and other ridiculous things, but Sherlock like to look at it as a social experiment. He was still quite confused on why any woman would want to be whisked away by a monster. He’d dealt with real monsters. Heinous people with less heart than he. He wouldn't want Molly “whisked away” by any of them. Or anyone really… his brain bit back.   
One night he came over after a particularly difficult case and after eating more Chinese food than Molly would have thought possible, he had put his head in her lap and promptly fell into his mind palace. She’d been surprised, to say the least, the weight of him an odd mix of unnerving and so perfectly natural. After she was sure his trance was nothing less than a coma-like, she began to absentmindedly run her fingers through his curls as she continued to watch TV. She wouldn't move him, Molly knew better than to disturb him when he was in his mind palace.  
Sherlock was considering that maybe he thought better when someone was playing with his hair when he realized the movements of her hands had stopped. He opened his eyes, expecting to see Molly attentively watching a werewolf fall in love with a human or something of that sort, but instead, she was lying next to him on the settee. She was curled into his side, her head resting on his chest, arm thrown haphazardly across him. Her head was tucked right under his nose and he could smell the gardenia and honey of her shampoo. He expected to be uncomfortable, but it just felt right. His body curled around her tiny frame, her breath ghosting across his chest. He pulled her tighter against him and she let out a soft mummer.   
“Mmmhh Sherlock.” His name drifted from her lips like a breath of relief, like she had been reaching for him is the haze of her dreams. He smiled and let himself join her in sleep.  
*********  
Molly woke with a heavy arm wrapped around her and without thinking she stretched, pushing her bum against the warm figure to finding a very prominent morning erection. She gasped and was quickly reminded that she had fallen asleep on Sherlock. A normal, natural phenomenon, she thought. It means nothing. Moving as slowly as possible, she attempted to move out of his embrace, edging off the couch with extreme caution, but his arm only tightened around her body, pulling her closer.  
She was very aware that waking him up would just make the situation more uncomfortable. Fathering her child was already out of his comfort zone plenty. She took a deep breath, trying to match her breaths with his. Letting herself relax into him. She attempted to fall back asleep, convinced that if Sherlock woke first, he would flee and she could pretend she never even knew that they had ended up in such a compromising position. A position that you want, her brain reminded her.  
This brought her back to the problematic, and what felt like a very large erection that was pressed against her thigh. While the logical Molly, the pathologist, the scientist, begged her to stay still, her body screamed for him. Every inch of her was pressed against him and all she wanted was to grab his face, trace his morning stubble, run her fingers through his beautiful curls while she woke him with a delicious snog. She wanted to feel the weight of his cock in her hands, she wanted to taste him, but more than anything she wanted him inside her. Moving above her, pounding into her at a punishing pace. She wanted his mouth, his hands everywhere.  
She could feel herself getting turned on. There was a tightness, a pressure in the base of her belly, her juices collecting at her center. She couldn't help herself. She pushed against him again, this time with more pressure and was pleased to hear a raspy groan escape Sherlock’s lips. With this boost of confidence, she turned in his arms and slung her thigh over his hip. Before she could hesitate, she ground herself against him, using his hardness to stimulate herself through their clothes.   
“Molly.” He whispered her name reverently in her ear and began to slide his hand up her body. So he’s awake…  
“Do you want me to-”  
“No, keep going,” he murmured. His hand reached her chest and his thumb just barely grazed her breast. He cupped her cheek, and tilted his head, leaning in for a kiss.   
The touch of his lips hit her like an electric shock and any control she had snapped. She opened to him, his tongue invading her mouth. He withdrew just enough to suck on her lip, nipping it before releasing it again. Her hands roamed up his back, seeking skin, pulling his shirt from his trousers and slipping underneath.   
Sherlock flipped them so he was on top of her and they hurried to rid him of his shirt. She sat up so she could remove her shirt as well, pushing him onto his back and straddling him so he could watch. She moved as slowly as possible just to tease him, all the while grinding herself against his further hardening cock. Just as she was about to remove her bra the shrill tone of his phone rang out through her flat. She froze, eyes widened as he frantically fumbled around for his phone.  
“It must be 7:30,” He mumbled. The sobering effect of this sent instant regret through her, quickly abandoning his lap.   
“I- I’m sorry,” She mumbled.   
“NO!” he said too loudly. “It was… it’s fine. I- I wanted it.” They were both quiet as Molly hurried to restore her clothing and Sherlock searched for the fertility drugs. The silence continued as he administered the medication and only mumbled goodbyes were exchanged before Sherlock left.  
Molly collapsed back onto the sofa with her head in her hands. Fuck.


End file.
